The wedding was beautiful, elegant and tasteful. Lassiter wouldn't have expected anything less from O'Hara and Guster. As he stood by the fountain in the immaculately groomed garden of the Simpson House Inn, sipping champagne and watching them greet their guests, he wondered if he would ever consider tying the knot again. It had been a long time since he'd been the wide-eyed romantic that had fallen for Victoria Parker. Even dating was more complicated, now there was more than just his own needs to consider. And then there was Shawn. That one kiss had added a whole other layer of weird. It was times like this that he wished relationships were more like the Detective's exam. You did your best, and you got a score that told you exactly where you stood. As far as he was concerned that was preferable to wondering whether or not you were dating, and if one of the best kisses of your life would ever happen a second time.

"Where's Charlotte?"

"What?" He turned to see Chief Vick, walking toward him unsteadily as her slight heels dug into the soft earth beneath the grass. "Oh. She's with my mother." He supposed he might as well get used to people being disappointed whenever he didn't have an adorable baby with him. He could hardly blame them. "No doubt she's picking up a dozen bad habits and emotional scars." Shawn had assured him that this wasn't the case, and that Charlotte's visits to her new grandmother were, in fact, mutually enjoyable for both parties. Somehow Carlton found that difficult to believe.

"Grandparents are supposed to spoil their grandkids, Carlton," Vick assured him.

That may be so, he thought, but since Charlotte had come along he'd also been forced to hear his mother recollect incidents from his own infancy that were, in his view, best forgotten. Too many of them featured him urinating.

Vick stared at him over her champagne glass as she sipped it. "What are your plans now that you've got custody nailed down?"

"Plans?"

"Well I assume you'll take paternity leave," she began. "Plus, you have that year of vacation saved up."

Lassiter looked at her as if she had just suggested that he consider going vegan. "What, I should take two years off and let crime just pile up in the city where Charlotte will someday walk to school? I don't think so."

Besides, he reasoned, he might need that vacation time for when Charlotte started dating. He certainly couldn't tail her boyfriends on SBPD time.

Chief Vick sighed and nodded, as if their conversation had gone just as she expected it might. "It was just a suggestion." She slapped him conciliatorily on the arm. "I think I'll go congratulate the happy couple."

Lassiter watched Vick manoeuver her way across the lawn to where Gus and Juliet were greeting guests. He didn't hear Shawn's approach and jumped slightly when he spoke.

"Lassie."

Shawn was standing so close to Lassiter's elbow that he almost knocked his glass of champagne out of his hand. Lassiter lifted his glass up, out of range, and stepped back.

"Shawn." Lassiter have him a nod. "The uh, wedding was nice. Don't you think?"

"Huh? Oh. Yeah. Weddings are great. Unless they're attacked by the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad." He laughed nervously.

There were times, Lassiter acknowledged, when he wished he possessed the mind-reading powers that Shawn sometimes claimed. If he did, he'd certainly have been tempted to use them now, as they made awkward small-talk about the ceremony.

Sometimes it was almost as if the kiss hadn't happened, and they'd settled back into a comfortable routine. Lassiter hated the thought of ruining everything by trying to re-hash his one moment of weakness and insanity. And then there were times, usually just as he was going to bed alone, when he felt like he'd pressed the pause button on his love life just as things had started to get interesting. Shawn had kissed him back, and that had to mean something. He just wasn't sure what he wanted it to mean, or what Shawn wanted it to mean.

As he listened to Shawn joke about being the Dermot Mulroney to his Debra Messing, he was uncomfortably uncertain whether Shawn saw himself as his date. And he couldn't very well ask. If marriage had taught him anything, it was that talking about his feelings was not his strong suit.

"Um." Shawn shifted from foot to foot nervously. "Um. Can I talk to you?"

Uh-oh, Lassiter thought. In his experience, that question had never led anywhere good.

"We are talking," He pointed out.

"I mean," Shawn said, looking from one corner of the reception hall to the other, "not here. This is kind of a Nic Cage and Sean Connery in the sewer of Alcatraz conversation rather than a Mel Gibson with blue face paint yelling at a crowd of men in skirts kind of conversation, you know?"

Lassiter looked at him blankly.

"In private," Shawn explained.

"Right." Lassiter drained his champagne and put the fluted glass down on a candlelit table. "Fine." It looked like they were going to finally address that kiss. But what could he say? It was amazing? It was incredible? Let's never do it again, for both our sakes?

Shawn led Lassiter inside the Inn, across a gleaming hardwood floor, down a narrow hallway and to a drab and grimy utility closet that smelled of orange-scented floor cleaner.

"Spencer," Lassiter said slowly, "did you...set up seating in a utility closet?"

"I wanted to make it comfortable," Shawn said defensively. He pointed to the overturned five-gallon buckets he'd arranged in the middle of the tiny room. "The little bucket is an end table." When Lassiter didn't move, he sat down.

"What I wanted to tell you," Shawn said, looking first up at Lassiter, then down at his hands, "is that I am really sorry."

Shawn was sorry? "I don't think–" Lassiter began, and stopped. He looked away. "You don't have anything to be sorry about." He looked at Shawn and his eyes narrowed. "Unless you peanut-buttered my phone again."

"No, no, nothing like that," Shawn interrupted, waving his hands in front of him. "It's just..."

He paused for so long that Lassiter started to feel antsy. "What?"

"When I offered to help you out with Charlotte," Shawn said. "I...I mean, I really had worked with babies before. I really do like them. I love Charlotte," he added, looking up imploringly at Lassiter.

"Spencer." Lassiter tried to keep his voice as even and calm as possible. "I really don't understand what you're trying to tell me."

"When I offered to help," Shawn continued, knotting his fingers together, "I may have had, um, a teeny tiny little ulterior motive."

"Uh huh." Lassiter schooled himself not to react. "And what motive was that?"

Shawn looked up at him. "I was using her as an excuse to get to you," he said flatly.

Lassiter stared. Shawn had certainly been getting to him, there was no doubt about that. No, Lassiter thought, Shawn had been getting to him on too many levels for too long now. The attraction issue aside, he'd come to rely on Shawn and to see him as more than an employee. For a few moments he'd even entertained thoughts that they had…something. But now it seemed as if all those moments of intimacy had been part of some larger scheme. He should have known.

"I mean," Shawn continued, "it wasn't my only option. I had some other plans, you know, most of which involved me getting locked out of my apartment. But then Charlotte showed up and it just seemed like—" He stopped. Stared up pleadingly at Lassiter. "I thought that taking care of her would be a way to be close to you. Because I like you. To paraphrase Sally Fields, I really, really like you."

"I—" Lassiter cleared his throat. He was having trouble processing any of Shawn's rambling explanation. "I'm not really sure what to say, Spencer."

"I'm really sorry," Shawn said, staring at the floor. "The thing is, after the whole thing started, after I really got to know her, I just…" He looked up with a dreamy smile on his face. "She's an awesome kid, Lassie."

Finally, something he could comprehend. "I know."

"And I just kind of forgot, I guess, that that was what I wanted, at first, but then we really were together a lot, and doing things with Charlotte, and there was pasta primavera and that Ed Sullivan wine, and..." He paused. "And then I just...I realized that I don't want to get with you, Lassie."

"You don't?" Lassiter said. He felt dizzy and bewildered—was Shawn saying that all that flirting, all those signals were just...what? Lies? Lassiter's misinterpretation? He couldn't believe that. The kiss had been real. He knew that in his gut.

"No." Shawn's voice gathered conviction. "I wanted to get with you at first, Lassie. But now—" he reached up and took Lassiter's hands—"now I want to be with you."

Lassiter was speechless. This was beyond what he'd expected. At most, he thought Shawn might proposition him. He'd imagined it a dozen times—Shawn, as usual, injecting just enough levity into the offer that he could pretend he hadn't been serious if things went bad. What he hadn't expected was such raw vulnerability. It brought out all his protective instincts.

He pulled Shawn up from his bucket chair, cupped his face in his hands and leaned in. Pushing all his doubts and fears to the back of his mind he lost himself in the feel of Shawn's lips against his own, and then as their kiss deepened everything seemed to melt away except the feeling of Shawn's body pressed desperately against his own. It seemed like ages before he pulled back and gasped a breath.

"My mother has Charlotte for another two hours," he whispered, trailing kisses along Shawn's neck.

"That is the sexiest thing I have ever heard you say," Shawn teased.

"I meant," Lassiter smirked, "we could go back to my place. Alone. Together." He leaned back and looked searching into Shawn's eyes. "If you wanted."

"If I wanted?" Shawn shook his head, incredulously. "I want that like I want another season of Pushing Daisies. Which is yes," he added when he sensed Lassiter's confusion. "Even if it did make me want to eat pie every week."

"Great!" Lassiter looked at their surroundings and sniffed reproachfully at the heavy citrus smell. "Then let's get the hell out of this closet."

Shawn smiled. "Literally, or metaphorically?"

Lassiter rolled his eyes. "One hurdle at a time, Spencer. One hurdle at a time."